Grymbart Brings Tidings to his Eme

And so it is last we learned that the fox has well-earned the wrath of all the woodland creatures, and most of all the King, and there was rejoicing at that time--a celebration of the sentence soon to be meted out to the crafty and wily fox.

With the feasting and celebrating on the wane, and thoughts turning to Reynard and his fate, his nephew Grymbart hasted much, sparing no hedge or dead-fallen tree in his path to come to his eme Reynart. He came upon his uncle the fox as the wily animal was coming home just then, having found two young birds trying their wings for their first flight. The birds did not fare so well, dropping instead to the ground and making a dinner for the fox and his family.

His nephew Grymbart was all besweated, hasting to catch the breaths he lost during his rapid flight, gulping in the clean forest air. At last he spoke: “Reynard, things go badly for you! The King has heard the complaints from the forest beasts concerning your most recent crimes, and he has heard also how you killed Corbant the Rook’s wife, slonking her in great, greedy gulps, whilst he grieved the accursed scene from a tree. And now the king’s wrath is beyond believing, is such that the bear and the wolf durst not even say a word to him, even though they more so than many others were wronged by you—and in more terrible and hurtful ways.”

Reynard paused at the doorway of his house, wanting more than anything to enter and enjoy the birds that had been so generously deposited on the ground before him.
“So, listen, eme mine,” Grymbart continued. “Wrathful is the king and joyous are those who celebrate and enjoin his wrath and would help him avenge and mete out a harsh and biting punishment.” He paused, caught his breath. “You know, we had a hoe-down to celebrate coming to get you.”
“Oh?” said the fox, not caring much one way or the other.
“Yes. The king and all those who live in the forest and call these parts their home will be coming. There will be wagons, guns, cannons, bombardments from things thrown. There will also be tents, canopies, covers and hasty-made roofs to keep the weather off the heads of those who would journey for your life—or death—and might need a safe place to sleep for the night.
“Tents?” said the fox.
“Yes, tents,” said his nephew. “And canopies, too. Anyway, you can expect a great commotion uncommon to the tranquil forest—an interruption of its silence and a trampling of its floor—what with the wagons and all.”
“Grateful am I for these tidings, dear nephew,” replied the fox. “But carry ye not a sore burden of care and thought for your uncle, so mis-thought of and whose death the King would wroth. Mostly I am hungry, would enjoy these fallen birds and would hasten you on your way.” He added: “Your uncle can take care of himself. Much noise and clanging and banging may the King and those others create in my honor, but rise above it I will, will be exalted higher than the highest of them, for their lives depend on me, my cunning, my wiliness and willingness and willing wiliness is more than they are capable of in thought or action. For that they need me, your eme.”

And now a passage directly from the text I am reading, for these words speak well of the fox, as they are the fox’s own, and give the reader a better side of this woodland creature, without the feelings and thoughts of another, who---many hundreds of lifetimes later—might want to impart his own without his even knowing:


“DEAR Nephew, let all these things pass, and come here in and see
what I shall give you; a good pair of fat pigeons. I love no meat better.
They ben good to digest. They may almost be swolowen in all whole;
the bones ben half blood; I eat them with that other. I feel myself other
while encumbered in my stomach, therefore eat I gladly light meat. My
wife Ermelyne shall receive us friendly, but tell her nothing of this
thing for she should take it over heavily. She is tender of heart; she
might for fear fall in some sickness; a little thing goeth sore to her
heart. And to-morrow early I will go with you to the Court, and if I may
come to speech and may be heard, I shall so answer that I shall touch
[103] some nigh ynowh. Nephew, will not ye stand by me as a friend
ought to do to another?”
“Yes truly, dear Eme,” said Grymbart, “and all my good is at your
commandment.”
“God thank you, Nephew,” said the Fox. “That is well said: If I may
live, I shall quite it you.”
“Eme,” said Grymbart, “ye may well come tofore all the lords and
excuse you. There shall none arrest you ne hold as long as ye be in your
words. The Queen and the Leopard have gotten that.”
Then said the Fox, “Therefor I am glthem an hair; I shall well save myself.”

The two then enter into the fox’s house, where his wife Ermelyne is waiting.